


The Conquering of Harry Potter('s Virginity)

by FantasyFiend09



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom!Harry, First Time, M/M, Rimming, Virgin!Draco, Virgin!Harry, post—hogwarts, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFiend09/pseuds/FantasyFiend09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt says it best: after Draco acquires the knowledge that Harry Potter has had a very sad (non-existent really) sex life, he sees it as his personal duty to be the Saviour's hero for once and show him how it's done. And Draco is totally the right person for that.. although he may not actually have had sex before either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Conquering of Harry Potter('s Virginity)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the prompt. Dear _Isinuyasha_ , so the 8th year story didn't happen. It's partly Harry's fault for claiming that being an 18 year old virgin at a boarding school with curfews and assigned rooms wasn't really that embarrassing. Draco heard that and got all huffy about how I was trying to downplay his hero-ness (his word, not mine). We compromised on setting the story the year after 8th year so that Harry could be a year older and have some embarrassing virgin time in the greater wizarding world. I hope that you enjoy it all the same.  
> Huge thanks to _eidheann_writes_ for making me laugh and blush as she proves what a careless typer I am. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

* * *

He didn't need to look up from his book to know it was Pansy who had marched out of his Floo and across his wood floor onto the Persian rug that was the centrepiece of his living room. He knew the sound of those ridiculous heels she wore whenever she wasn't in the garden, and he could tell from the rhythm she tapped into his floor that the apology he was due would not be offered.

"Go away, Pansy. I'm not sure if I can ever look at you again."

The snort and the sound of her body settling onto his upholstery showed that she still didn't listen to a thing he said. Bitch.

"Does this mean there will be no more unannounced visits to my home?" She sounded far too smug. She was _supposed_ to be begging for forgiveness. 

Despite his comment about never looking at her again, he certainly didn't want to keep his back to her, so he settled for glaring at a spot on his sofa beside her.

"Don't make this my fault, Pans!" 

"Oh, please, Draco. You Flooed into our house without warning. Of course it's your fault."

"It's not like I went into your _bedroom_!" He couldn’t help but glare at her, and the stubborn set of her jaw assured him that she would not see reason any time soon.

"Not everyone limits themselves to a bedroom.” Her tone was losing her haughtiness as she gave in to her anger. "If Neville and I want to shag in the kitchen, we're damn well going to. It's _our_ house and we'll fuck where we feel like!" She was standing now and Draco could almost imagine her stamping her foot like she used to when they were children. " _You_ can learn to owl."

Draco hated the thought of not being able to pop in on Pansy at any time. She was his best friend and sometimes he _needed_ her. Right away!

Stupid Longbottom moving in and fucking up Draco's social life. Those two were supposed to be an eighth-year fling, not the shacking-up together type. And what kind of Gryffindor shagged on a kitchen table? That wasn't noble or romantic! Weren't satin sheets, rose petals, and poetry required for every lovemaking?

"I'll bet Potter doesn't shag in his kitchen." It was a stupid retort, but Draco still found it hard to stay off the topic of Potter. That was Pansy's fault, too. Somehow. 

"Well Harry doesn't shag at all," Pansy snapped as she plopped back onto the sofa.

Draco's world ground to a halt. Potter doesn't shag? Doesn't any more or never had? Doesn't do anal or doesn't do _anything_? No. It couldn't be. Pansy was joking. She was—she was completely rigid as she looked at Draco with fear in her eyes.

So it was _true_! 

"Fuck. I didn't say—"

"Yes, you did Pansy. You definitely did. You said that Potter is a _virgin_!" Well, no. She said he didn't shag, but her response would tell him if the bolder claim of virginity was true.

"No! Draco, no." Virgin then. "You can't tell anyone. Neville would be furious." She had gone incredibly pale and her voice trembled as she said her boyfriend's name. Fuck, she really was gone on him.

Draco was itching to hear more, but he was too loyal to Pansy to ignore how worried she looked. He went to sit next to her and scooped her hand into his. "Pansy, I won't tell. Longbottom will never know that you told me. I promise."

She eyed him warily. "And in return?" Ah, she did know him better than anyone else. Except his mother. Narcissa was clairvoyant. 

"I want the details. The damage is done, so you might as well fill me in." He knew he'd won the moment she bit her lip. She _wanted_ to tell him. It must be hell for her to have gossip on Potter and have to keep quiet.

"Fine. But in return, you don't tell a _soul_. You hear me? If the _Prophet_ suddenly prints an article on the Virgin Saviour, I'm executing you without trial."

Draco mimed locking his lips and crossing his heart. Then he let the greed show on his face as he leered at her. "Now spill."

* * *

Harry Potter was a virgin. Harry Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World, winner of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible award, and the wank fodder of the masses—was a _virgin_! 

Not a _technical_ virgin who swears off a particular act of sex to claim the title, but a true fumbling about, never even touched it, no experience at all virgin. 

Better yet, no one knew!

Well, probably Granger and a bunch of Weasleys did. And Longbottom, obviously. But the general public operated under the belief that the Boy Who Could Have Anyone had surely had _someone_. 

The lack of news reports on Potter's love life had been attributed to fact that Potter had purchased the Prophet after the war and promptly sacked anyone who had ever written a salacious piece about him or his friends. The first to go had been the photographer who captured Potter snogging Macmillan at Potter's Ministry-sponsored, postwar birthday extravaganza.

Of course, Macmillan had been dating Finch-Flectchey by the time eighth-year began, but that didn't stop everyone from assuming he'd shagged Potter at _some_ point that summer. However, according to Pansy, the famous snog was the extent of the Macmillan/Potter relationship and the entirety of Potter's sex life since the Weaslette in sixth-year. 

All of this meant that Potter was still a virgin with no hope of reprieve on the horizon. If Potter—who must receive dozens of offers a day—couldn't get any action, then clearly he was completely helpless on that front. His virginity was a foe he could not vanquish. He needed help. He needed a hero to save him from his empty little sex life. He needed Draco!

* * *

"You are going to save Harry from his virginity." Pansy's voice—flat and low—left it unclear if it was a statement or question. Draco didn't even look up from his book as he confirmed her very crude over-simplification of his plan. He was quite comfortable in the library he'd created in his flat's spare room and didn't need her distracting him any more than she had already. She didn't need to appreciate the finer points of his strategy. She certainly didn't need to understand his surprisingly noble urge to rescue Potter from himself.

"Draco, isn't there something about the blind leading the blind and how that's not a good plan?" That Pansy, always against Draco's plans.

"I'm not blind." 

"Yes, but you _are_ as inexperienced as Potter!"

"But not ignorant." He closed _Ride Him Like a Dragon_ long enough to show her the cover. 

She dropped into the chair next to him. "A sex manual? That's your plan?"

"Well not the _whole_ plan. Obviously. One doesn't just fuck a virginal Harry Potter. There are phases! Infiltration, Development of Trust, Romance, and Seduction." He ticked each phase off on a finger to help her understand. "I'm in Phase One: Education."

"And Phase Two?" She looked curious despite herself.

"Infiltration. Which reminds me, I need you and Longbottom to host something together and make sure Potter attends. A house party would be best so that I can get Potter alone some place quiet. 

"You are not shagging in my house."

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of using any surface Pansy and Longbottom might have used for their own groping. " _Obviously!_ That's Phase Six. If Potter were the shag-at-a-party type, he wouldn't be a virgin, now would he?" 

She shrugged lightly. "Maybe he is but, like you, is too fixated on a particular person to notice when anyone else is flirting."

Draco scowled. He did not like the idea of Potter being obsessed with someone. But no. If Potter wanted someone, he'd have the person by now. Potter got everything he wanted, right? "Don't be ridiculous, Pansy. Just get planning. The education phase is almost complete and I don't want to waste any time beginning the infiltration."

"Is your education going to include any hands-on practical training?"

It was very difficult to read with her incessant questions. The plan was not _that_ complex and Pansy was far sharper than she let on. Draco was unsure why she was failing to comprehend. "I already told you about Phase Six."

"No, I mean with someone else."

"What?" Had she missed the whole point of this being about _Potter_?

"You could shag someone else so that you'd have actual sexual experience when you—you know what? Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Easily done. Luckily Pansy fell quiet and Draco was able to finish the section on rimming.

* * * 

Pansy looked just like her mother as she poured tea for Draco and herself. He was sure she would hate the comparison, but there was something about the way she tilted her chin as she delicately lifted the handle of the teapot that reminded him of sitting in front of Mrs. Parkinson's tea settings as a small boy in shorts. 

Of course, back then tea hadn't been spoiled by aggressive questions about his sex-life.

"You seem fairly certain that he'll be receptive to your advances." Pansy was looking at the sugar cubes she was adding to her tea, but Draco knew she was faking her nonchalance. She'd become almost as fond of discussing Potter as Draco was.

"Well, he was receptive to Macmillan, yes? So that provides some insight into his taste. Macmillan and I are the same sex, age, and blood status, and we both—"

"Never know when to shut up?" 

Draco glared at her. It was generous of him to even accept her invitation to tea after the last visit to her house had scarred him with a glimpse of Longbottom's bottom. 

" _—have fair colouring_. So if Potter was amenable to snogging someone like Macmillan, _of course_ he'll want to shag a better looking and more charming man like me."

Pansy was nodding, but it was the humouring type and not a sign of agreement. "You are overlooking some differences between you and Macmillan that might be relevant. Macmillan was a war hero. He was in Harry's little club in fifth-year. _You_ were the one who got his club disbanded. And … other things."

She was _so_ tactful. "Yes, yes. I nearly killed his best friend and supported the Dark wizard who killed his parents. I know." He waved his hand impatiently at her as if he could brush the past away. "But that was ages ago." Okay, _ages_ was a gross exaggeration, but it _felt_ like a whole other lifetime. "Besides, he spoke for me at my trial, so he's clearly over all that. Age and circumstance, remember?"

"How could I forget." She rolled her eyes as if it weren't a damn good excuse for his behaviour. It was quite cheeky of her given that "age and circumstance" had been exactly _her_ excuse for wanting to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord. What sauce is good for the goose, and all that.

"Potter was perfectly civil in eighth-year, and I haven't done anything to provoke him since then." Draco had barely _seen_ Potter in the months since they'd left Hogwarts. They didn't work together and, despite Pansy being with Longbottom, there was still little overlap in their social lives. 

There were occasional encounters—like just last month when they'd both been waiting for friends at the Leaky and had shared a drink at the bar—but what stood out most for Draco were the several minutes of pleasant conversation at a Harpies and Arrows match just a week after their N.E.W.T.s. 

It had been a clear, sunny day, and Potter had looked delectable in the natural light. He'd grown taller during the war, but it was during their eighth-year that his body had begun to thicken. He was still slender, and probably still had those knobbly knees, but he had lost the gawkiness of youth. That game was the first time Draco _really_ allowed himself to appreciate just how attractive Potter was. 

But that had been back when Draco had believed that Potter's bed was fully booked. Now Draco knew better. 

"I've been an angel since the war." He tried his doe eyes on Pansy, but she was immune. Her constant querying began to make him nervous. "Why? Has Potter said anything about me?"

Pansy's eyes softened and she placed a gentle hand on his. "I just don't want you to be disappointed if … your plan doesn't …"

Silly thing. Of course his plan would work. It had six stages formulated to prevent any risk of failure. He would carefully infiltrate Harry's social circle and slowly earn his trust. Once they were friends, he would choose subtle gestures to introduce an element of romance to their relationship. Once Potter was devoted to him, Draco would seduce him. The whole thing would surely take months—maybe a year—but in the end Potter would be thoroughly shagged and free of the burdens of his virginity.

"I won't be disappointed, Pansy. Do remember that _I_ am saving him!."

"From his virginity."

"A formidable foe, apparently, given that he can't defeat it on his own." 

She gave him a funny little smile. "And why are _you_ the one to be his saviour in this particular hardship?"

Wasn't it obvious? "He saved my life. It's the least I can do."

"Indeed." 

"So is everything set for Friday? Your party. He _will_ be there, right?" Draco had all but memorised three different sex manuals and was eager to begin Phase Two: Infiltration.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Yes. You owe Neville for that, so no more grief about walking in on us."

"If Potter is there, I'll forget it ever happened. Not that I am ready to sit at your kitchen table again. Please tell me this party won't involve your kitchen table."

"It's a buffet. In the garden. You are _so_ dramatic." With that, she finished her tea and set it down with a clear clink. "Off with you. Go plan your grand seduction."

"Infiltration. Seduction is Phase Five, and I mustn't get ahead of myself." He pretended she cared as he finished his tea.

* * *

He straightened the lapel on his jacket and examined himself in the mirror once more. The full-length mirror was not magical and was pleasantly silent as he examined the outfit he had spent the last hour assembling. 

The message had to be just right. The jeans showed that he was progressive and pro-Muggle. The pale blue shirt and grey jumper were to flatter his colouring and accentuate his eyes. The blazer was to give him a touch of formality to show that he took the party—and thus Pansy and Longbottom's relationship—seriously. The dragonhide boots were to give a hint of rebellion in case Potter liked bad boys. 

Or leather.

Draco shook images of Potter in leather from his head lest his body react. His jeans were tight enough without his groin swelling. 

He picked up the bouquet of tiger lilies and the outrageously expensive bottle of Bordeaux he was bringing for Pansy; she had planned this entire party for his purposes, so no token hostess gift would do. Satisfied with his appearance, he Apparated to the rural cottage his best friend now shared with Longbottom.

Entering the crowded living room, only one thought was available: this must be what Gryffindor tower was like. 

Everywhere there were people laughing loudly and shouting at people across the room as they carelessly dropped food to the floor or set drinks onto wood surfaces without coasters. Draco hoped Pansy had strong protective Charms on her grandmother's coffee table; there really was no Charm to remove moisture rings without damaging the wood's finish. 

He pushed by the Irish Gryffindor and a couple of gingers before he was able to find Pansy. She accepted his gifts with a pointed comment about the new vegetable plot on the side of the house.

Draco took the hint. He all but sprinted from the house and made his way through the crowd in the back garden to the quiet side yard. Crouched beside a tomato plant with a glass of wine held precariously in long fingers was Harry Potter. Alone. His free hand was fondling a tomato with the same care and concentration Draco would expect from Pansy or Longbottom. 

"I didn't know you were into Herbology." Draco hadn't meant to speak yet, but he was pleased he had managed a casual conversation starter. 

A slight twitch was the only indication he'd startled Potter, who rose gracefully to meet Draco with a small smile. "I'm not. I was just marvelling at how they manage to produce vegetables like this. They taste nothing like what I buy at the market, you know?"

Draco smiled in what he hoped was a friendly-but-not-leering way. "We grew our own vegetables at the Manor." Well, the elves did, but Draco wasn't going to mention that at a party Granger was probably attending. "So I really don't know about market quality. But these are better than anything I had at home." Pansy and Longbottom really were amazing with plants. It was the shared passion that had brought them together in the first place. 

"You still live at the Manor then?" 

"No! No." That would have made shagging Potter a hundred times more complicated. "I have my own flat." Draco tried not to dance at Potter's interest in his living arrangements. "You?"

Potter's face lit up. "I bought a cottage. My godfather had left me a place, but it was too creepy. I wanted some place I could make my own that had no bad memories."

Draco nodded. "Thus not living in the Manor."

A sympathetic look filled Potter's eyes and they shared a quiet moment of understanding.

Potter broke their shared gaze to look at the house beside them. "So, umm … Neville and Pansy, huh? Was that as much of a surprise for you guys as it was for us?"

Draco tried not to bristle, but he couldn't help but anticipate some insult to Pansy. He kept his tone neutral as he waited to hear if Potter had a point to make. "Them getting together or the fact that they've stayed together so long?" 

"Both. No, the second one. I'm not actually surprised that Neville couldn't resist a plant fanatic with a great figure. I guess it's just odd that they work together outside of the greenhouse." Potter's tone was light and musing. Perhaps Potter had accepted Pansy after all. 

Draco arched his brow. "Are you scoping Pansy's figure?"

Potter coughed out a laugh. "Not really. But I do have ears. A lot of guys spent eighth year discussing who had the largest breasts." 

"Not really my thing." Draco kept his tone casual but his pronunciation clear. It was essential that Potter realise Draco was interested in men if he were to have any hope of picking up on Draco's flirtations when they entered Phase Four. Potter wasn't good at subtlety. 

"You like 'em small?"

 _Really_ not good at subtlety. "I don't like them at all, Potter." He resisted growling at Potter's confused expression. "I'm gay!"

"Gay? But didn't you and Pansy … ?"

Oh, for god's sake! "Potter, I took a girl—a childhood friend—to a ball when I was fourteen. That does not a heterosexual make."

Potter had the decency to blush. It was a flattering pale pink that accented his high cheekbones and complimented his green eyes. Draco would have to make him blush again.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Knowing I'm gay?" Draco took a slow step closer.

"No! No. That would be … I mean, I think it's great … I …"

Draco took pity and raised a hand to silence him. "I figured you weren't homophobic after the Macmillan snogging incident." That lovely blush returned and Draco found it rather distracting. 

"That was … Let's just say I wasn't really used to alcohol."

"And now?" Draco nodded toward the glass of wine in Potter's hand.

Potter grinned, and it held a hint of challenge and mischief. "Now I can hold my own."

"And does alcohol still lead to snogging blokes at parties?" Draco arched a brow but made sure to keep his lips curved in a smile. He hoped he looked playful and relaxed despite his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Potter's answer. 

Potter's face danced through a series of subtle changes. There was the initial lift of the brow and then the slight twitch of the lip. Those intense green eyes wandered over Draco's face as if searching for some additional clue. The sound of laughter from other guests on the back lawn drifted over and reminded Draco that they were only superficially alone. He was about to make an excuse and leave—what had he been _thinking_ flirting during Phase Two—when Potter finally spoke.

"I'm not sure." Potter's voice was soft and low. "It depends on the drink and the bloke." Uncertainty shone in his eyes and Draco felt emboldened by the other man's insecurity.

"Well, then. Let me top up your glass and get me one, too."

* * *

Phase Two: Infiltration was a success! 

Despite a house full of his friends, Potter had stayed at Draco's side for most of the evening. He would occasionally be pulled away, and yet he always reappeared at Draco's side with a small smile and his glass of wine. He spoke freely when Draco asked questions that were increasingly personal in nature as if he trusted Draco—which was ridiculous given that Draco hadn't even initiated Phase Three.

It was all a bit surreal. Had no one ever initiated conversation with Potter before, or was he just particularly receptive to Draco? Draco would like to think that it was his superior skills in linguistics.

Potter's eyes shone brightly in the moonlight as he explained the program for helping acclimate children to the magical world. They had been wandering the garden together and ended up beside a plot of carrots as Potter grew more impassioned in his description of the Muggle-born program. "I want it to be for _Muggle-raised_ children, not just Muggle-born. My parents were magical, but I didn't even know magic was real until my eleventh birthday!"

Draco nodded his understanding. Having prepared for Hogwarts years before he even received his letter, he couldn't imagine how difficult it would be for a child to be ready in little over a month. Their expectations and understanding of the world would need to change completely! Potter had probably imagined a very different life for himself before his own letter arrived. Draco wondered if Potter ever mourned the Muggle life he gave up. That was more personal than Draco wanted to risk so early on in his infiltration of Potter's life. 

Instead he asked how Potter was going to manage the project whilst working as an Auror. It was well known that Potter had been accepted into the Aurors—skipping the official training—immediately after their eighth-year. He had basically been an Auror in the months between the Dark Lord's fall and the start of eighth-year: chasing down the remaining Death Eaters at Shacklebolt's side.

Draco thought the questions was a simple matter of time management, but Potter's face shuttered as his eyes fell to his glass. His shoulders tightened and he swirled his wine almost aggressively. "I suspect I'll have to choose one." He tensed as if anticipating an assault. 

Odd.

"Well, I suppose that's up to you." Draco finished his wine and wondered if he could steer Potter back to the bar by the roses. He looked back at Potter and noticed that some of the tension had eased in Potter's frame, even as he stood staring at his own half-full glass. Maybe Draco could steal a sip or two. But first, he suspected Potter was waiting for him to elaborate on his response. "All of the Death Eaters have been accounted for at this point—at least the ones I know about—so perhaps Hogwarts needs you more at this point."

Wide eyes came up to meet Draco's. "Really? You don't think I'm mad for walking away from the Aurors?" There was something just shy of awe in his voice. 

Draco did think Potter was a bit mad, but not for walking away from the Aurors. 

"No. You've basically done that job since you were eleven. Maybe it's time for something new." Potter's eyes were so intense that Draco struggled not to squirm until his gaze. He allowed himself a shrug that was too jerky to be elegant and looked away over the vegetable beds to the far greenhouses. "No reason you have to run this Hogwarts program forever either. Maybe once it's up and running you'll move on to something else."

"Like what?" 

Draco looked back at the breathy tone of Potter's voice. Potter looked as if he were awaiting Draco's reply without breathing. No pressure on Draco's answer then. "I don't know!" So much for keeping his frustration from his voice. "Bake muffins?"

Potter choked out a laugh that almost sounded like a sob. Then his face suddenly became very serious as he surged forward and pressed his lips to Draco's. Even with their lips closed, Draco could taste the bitter wine on Potter's breath. His lips weren't soft, but they were warm and insistent in that moment.

Then they were gone. Draco wondered if the wine on his own breath had put Potter off, but one glance at Potter's face—the flushed cheeks and wide eyes—showed nothing but fear. Was Potter really worried that Draco wouldn't want him?

Idiot.

Rather than wait for Potter to figure anything out on his own, Draco placed his hands either side of Potter's face and brought their lips together once more. Feeling bold, he opened his mouth just enough to pull Potter's lower lip against his teeth. This was definitely not part of Phase Two, but Draco couldn't be asked to care when Potter moaned and pressed against him. 

A dull plunk was followed by Potter's hands grabbing him firmly around the waist. Pansy would not be impressed that Potter had just dropped one of her crystal wineglasses into a vegetable bed, but Draco could not care less so long as Potter kept digging his fingertips into his hips as if terrified Draco might slip away. 

The plan!

Draco had a plan to save Potter from his own virginal captivity, and it did not involve shagging in a vegetable garden. He pressed one last kiss to Potter's lips and then pulled away.

"So drinking at parties still leads to snogging blokes, huh?" Even as he said it, Draco had to remind himself that there had been no one—according to Pansy—since Macmillan. It eased the sudden flare of jealousy that cramped his stomach.

"Not usually, no. Not since Ernie, and that was mainly just curiosity about … well about kissing a boy. This was—is—about … you. You aren't like the others: wanting to talk about Voldemort or when I'll be Minister."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "No. I've had quite enough of the Dark Lord, and if one of your lot is going to be Minister, it should be Granger." 

"You think Hermione should be Minister?" There was that surprise again. 

Draco glared. "I think she needs to give up on freeing elves against their will, but she'd certainly be better than Fudge was. Not now, obviously. Shacklebolt has several years left in him, and Granger has to learn a lot more about the Ministry.”

"Can we stop talking about Hermione's career and do more kissing?"

It wasn't according to plan, but Draco was happy to comply.

* * *

Somehow the evening had become Phases Two through Five, and it had Draco worrying that Phases Four and Five wouldn't be done properly. A rushed plan too often became a ruined one, and he had little hope of shagging a Gryffindor without proper time and effort devoted to Romance and Seduction. 

Despite his aching cock and the feel Potter's own promising erection pressing against his hip, Draco needed to go home, sober up, and sleep so that he could revise his plan with a clear head. 

Prying Potter's warm hands from their current spot at his waist, Draco gave him a firm and final kiss goodbye. 

"It's late. I'm going home."

Potter looked like a kicked puppy as Draco stepped away, and Draco nearly took him back into his arms. He offered to owl instead. The hurt look didn't change.

"We'll have dinner," Draco promised.

"Tomorrow?" 

Draco had not meant tomorrow. He'd assumed Wednesday at the earliest. His upbringing told him to pretend he was booked solidly for the next week so as to seem important and independent. His groin told him to grab Potter and Apparate to his flat that very moment. 

"Tomorrow." A compromise, right?

"I'll cook." 

Draco had no idea if Potter could cook, but he Apparated home quite certain that he would eat sawdust if Potter served it. He was still thinking about Potter's smile as he climbed into his empty, cold bed and fell asleep.

* * *

What if Potter didn't remember?

What if he remembered and was disgusted? Would he say Draco took advantage of him? Potter had been drinking the whole night, but he had never seemed too deep in his cup. But maybe he was one of those drunks who seemed sober.

Or maybe Potter wasn't disgusted but Granger and the Weasel were. Maybe they would—

Draco's rising panic was interrupted by a tapping at his window. Cursing, Draco threw off his covers and dragged himself from bed. Damn owl better have a good excuse for interrupting a perfectly good morning-after-freak-out. 

It did. 

The note was simple: _My Floo address is Safflower Glen. Come by at 4? Harry_

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating dinner before seven, but he couldn't deny his elation at the confirmation that Potter indeed remembered the night before and was still up for their dinner plans. Draco could always distract Potter for several hours until it was a civilised hour for dining. 

* * *

The fact that Potter was hosting made the planning of romance slightly more difficult. The setting was Potter's to control, although Draco supposed he would be able to gauge Potter's current level of interest and use that to plan their future romantic development. 

Stepping into a cosy living room lit only with warm candlelight, Draco decided that perhaps they were fully into Phase Four after all. Potter was at his side in an instant, offering wine and relieving Draco of the chocolates he'd brought with a smile and a hint of a blush. 

Potter stood close to Draco and offered several casual touches as he gave a tour of the ground floor of the cottage that ended in a large kitchen painted in a cheerful yellow. Draco seated himself at the long wooden table as Potter took his place in front of the range. 

"I hope you like beef," Potter said as he sliced up a courgette. "I have a roast in with some potatoes and parsnips. There's some Yorkshire pudding, too."

Draco didn't care. He wasn't interested in the food other than to know what it said about Potter's interest in him. He had expected something like a simple pasta and was pleased to see Potter had planned such an elaborate meal. "Do you usually make a beef roast on the weekend?"

That lovely pink returned to Potter's cheeks. "Not usually, no. I help Mrs. Weasley with her Sunday roasts, but this is the first time I've cooked one here."

It would have been kind to let it go, but Draco could not resist pushing his advantage. "Oh?" He tried to sound innocently curious but failed to his own ears. "Any reason you don't usually cook here? The kitchen is certainly nice enough."

Potter was flushing a deeper pink, but his eyes were as calm and piercing as ever. "I don't usually have someone to cook for." He smiled suddenly and it made Draco's heart falter in its rhythm. "It's nice. Having you here."

Well that was romance taken care of. Draco should have known better than to try to romance a Gryffindor. It was like trying to debate with a Ravenclaw or being kind to a Hufflepuff. This was Potter's area.

Best to simply move on to an area in which Draco could easily lead: Seduction. Surely prudish Gryffindors knew nothing about sex. Potter was the best proof of that. Yes, Longbottom was getting some, but surely that was all Pansy's doing.

Potter had returned to his slicing, so Draco walked up behind him until their clothes brushed together. He wrapped his hand around an uncut courgette and lifted it in front of them. He ran his thumb over the skin of the vegetables and let a little moan sound in Potter's ear. 

"I do love a long, firm courgette." 

The knife clattered to the counter before Potter span around to stare at Draco with dark eyes and pink cheeks. His lips were wet and slightly parted leaving Draco no choice but to kiss him. Potter's hands grabbed at his shirt, pulling him close with a desperation Draco hadn't expected. 

There was nothing prudish about the way Potter pushed their groins together and sucked Draco’s tongue into his mouth. All thought of plans and phases fled Draco's mind as he let his own fingers run around Potter's waist and down the firm flesh of his arse.

With his eyes closed, Draco gave himself over to the heat and firmness of the body in his arms. Potter made tiny gasps whenever Draco squeezed his arse or thrust their groins together. When they closed their lips in their kiss, they made a smacking sound that sent a shiver down Draco's spine.

He was just about to suggest they slow down when he felt a familiar crushing sensation and the kitchen vanished from around him. When the air returned to his lungs, he was in a small bedroom dominated by a large wood-frame bed with Potter sprawled across it. 

"What happened to dinner?" Surely Potter would expect to be wined and dined—did it count as wining and dining when it was Potter's wine and he was doing the cooking? Draco frowned as he pondered this. 

Potter smiled sheepishly. "The roast will be a while." He shrugged. "While we're waiting …" He gestured weakly to the bed he was resting on.

It took a long moment for Draco's brain to process Potter's words. Potter had planned pre-dinner shag time into their evening? It was certainly unexpected, but who was Draco to complain about Potter trying to get on his cock? Plan be damned, Draco was going to see this through. "I did think that four was an ungodly hour for dinner."

Potter laughed. "You would focus on the timing, wouldn't you?" 

"Forgive me for being civilised." It was a bit awkward just standing in Potter's bedroom with Potter on the bed and the expectation of sex handing over them. "So um..."

"I've never done this before." Potter was a bright shade of red and his eyes were firmly locked on his own jeans. Draco stopped himself before he could admit to knowing. He wouldn't betray Pansy. 

He could have admitted to his own lack of experience, but he wanted Potter to feel he was in good hands. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." To prove his claim, he gently removed Potter’s glasses, folded the arms, and set them on the nightstand.

He climbed onto the bed with a knee on each side of Potter's hips. Clothing would need to be removed, but Draco wanted the reassurance of kissing first. When Potter's mouth was opening under his and welcoming his tongue, Draco felt that being with Potter was as natural as breathing. Sex would simply happen and it would be perfect.

Potter opened the buttons of Draco's shirt without breaking the kiss, but they separated for Draco to pull Potter's t-shirt off. They fumbled with each other's trousers before switching to their own. Draco dropped his trousers and pants as easily as if he were at home in his own room readying for bed. This would be easy.

Potter pulled down his own pants and Draco stopped to take in the sight of a completely naked Potter. His shoulders and arms looked strong, but there was a vulnerability to his flat stomach and narrow waist. There was no bone there to protect him from any foe who might still wish to harm The Boy Who Lived. 

Not good thoughts for getting in the mood.

Best to appreciate Potter's muscular thighs that led up to his proud red cock. Potter was hard and it was all for Draco. His eyes were dark with lust, but there was also an uncertainty in his eyes that begged Draco for instruction.

Foreplay. There should be foreplay. Draco couldn't just slick his cock and plunge in. He should suck Potter off or rim him or something. Sucking Potter off seemed a bit daunting. Draco worried he'd gag and ruin the impression of competence. He'd done pretty well with the iced lolly he'd practised on, but it wasn't really the same. Rimming then. Potter wouldn't be able to see and there was nothing to cut off Draco's air supply.

"Get on the bed again. Hands and knees." 

Potter readily complied. He was in the middle of the bed, and when Draco walked up behind where his arse jutted into the air he couldn't really reach. "Um, scoot back a bit. That's it. There."

Draco grabbed Potter’s arse cheeks and pulled them aside so he could see Potter's pink hole. He ran his thumb over it and smiled as Potter squirmed and moaned beneath him. Right then. First the cleansing spell. Draco ran back to his trousers on the floor and pulled out his wand. He mispronounced the Charm on the first try but Potter's gasp assured him that the second attempt had managed something.

Holding Potter open for him, Draco pressed a kiss to Potter's hole. He licked at the furled skin and managed to get the tip of his tongue in before the muscle grew tired. With all of the kissing, his tongue wasn't really up for a lot of piercing and licking. Maybe this sort of thing really did benefit from practice. 

Best to move on to lubrication, then. He hoped Potter had some, because he certainly hadn't thought to bring any. When asked, Potter crawled up to his nightstand and pulled out a tube. Draco squeezed a huge amount onto his hand and it slipped through his fingers and down his arm onto Potter's rug. Shit. He quickly rubbed some of it onto himself to stop the dripping. Potter had moved back into his position at the end of the bed with his arse displayed for Draco's benefit, so Draco pressed one slick finger between the globes of Potter's arse and began to push in. Potter tightened immediately.

"You okay?" Draco didn't sound as confident as he'd hoped.

"Yeah. Just … odd."

Draco froze. "Do you want me to stop?"

Potter shook his head. "No. No. Just … um … move it a bit?"

Draco nodded and then realised Potter couldn't see it. Oh well. He pulled his finger out and then shoved it back in again. He repeated it several times, but Potter seemed just as tense and his cock had gone limp. 

Fuck. 

Maybe it wasn't enough? He quickly added a second finger and Potter clamped down on him.

"Ow!"

Draco pulled both fingers out and held them against his chest as if they'll been burned. Potter collapsed his legs so that he was almost curled up on the bed with his face to his knees. Had Draco hurt him? Of course he had! Potter had cried out in pain. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. What was Draco thinking? He wasn't the one to save Potter. Draco had never saved anyone. He wasn't a hero.

What should he do? Leave? He looked at Potter who was folded in on himself and taking deep breaths. Draco couldn't leave him like that. He gently ran his hand up Potter's back and felt Potter briefly tense before relaxing under his touch. 

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured. "I'm so sorry."

Potter lifted his head and turned onto his side. He reached out for Draco who immediately climbed onto the bed and pulled Potter into his arms. 

"Don't be sorry. I just panicked a bit. I just need a bit more time."

"Do you want me to leave?" Draco did not want to let go, but he felt he didn’t deserve to have Potter in his arms after causing him pain. 

Potter's head shot up to look at him. "No! Not that much time. I mean like a minute or two." 

"Are you sure? I mean, I _hurt_ you." 

Potter nuzzled against his neck. "It did hurt a bit, but I think I was just too tense."

It was still Draco's fault. If he had more experience he would know how to help Potter relax. He'd make it feel good. "I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm sorry."

Potter pulled away enough to meet his eyes. There was a little line between his brows that showed his confusion. "What do you mean?"

Draco couldn't hold Potter's gaze. "I've never done this before either."

Surprisingly, a huge grin took over Potter's face. "Really? This is your first time, too? Why didn't you say?"

"I didn't want you to think I didn't know what I was doing. But apparently I didn't do a great job of winging it." Draco’s face felt hot as he confessed and he wanted to bury it in Potter’s pillow.

Potter laughed at him, but it wasn’t a cruel or mocking laugh. "Idiot,” he said fondly. “You should have told me. I thought you must have had other lovers and I was terrified I was going to disappoint you."

A warm hopeful feeling bloomed in Draco's chest.

"Besides, it's even more special if it's the first time for both of us." 

Potter leaned in and kissed his lips. It was so calming the way their lips and tongues moved together as if they had been kissing everyday for years. If they could just build on that as they tried other ways of being intimate. 

Draco pulled away to meet Potter’s eyes. "So you're still up for this?" 

Potter kissed him softly on the brow. "Of course. I've fancied you for months. I'm not going to give up just because our first attempt at sex hit a bump."

 _Months?_ That was as difficult to process as the original realisation that Potter was a virgin. Months? That meant Potter’s feelings pre-dated any of Draco’s planning. That was before the drink they had shared at the Leaky.

"Months?" His voice was little more than a breath, but he needed Potter to tell him more.

For once, Potter didn’t blush at all. He just smiled at Draco with tender eyes. "Yeah. Once I gave Pansy a chance and got to know her, she started talking about you all the time. I liked her stories and realised I should give you a chance, too. And, well, I liked talking with you even more than Pansy's stories about you."

"Pansy would talk me up to you?" That conniving witch. She _knew_ Draco had always been a bit … _interested_ in Potter, and she'd ensured the interest was reciprocated. Draco owed her more than wine and flowers. Maybe dinner at that little French place? 

Potter began nibbling at his neck. 

Fuck it, he was taking her to a weekend in Paris.

Potter sucked on his collarbone and Pansy left his thoughts completely. Draco pulled back and captured Potter's mouth with his own. Maybe they'd shag that night or maybe they would just enjoy amazing kisses. Draco didn't care. He just loved the feel of Potter's body pressed against him and the heat of their mouths together. 

Feeling bold, he reached for Potter's cock. It was filling again and growing warm in Draco's hand. He pumped it and Potter bucked into his hand. That seemed to work. What if … 

Draco slid down Potter's body until he was facing Potter's cock. He could do this. And if he gagged, so be it. Potter already knew this was Draco's first time. He lapped at the head of Potter's cock and heard an appreciative moan overhead. Well that was a good sign. He opened his mouth and took Potter in. The taste was a bit unusual, but not unpleasant. It really just tasted like skin, except for the bitterness of the moist head. 

It really wasn't so different from kissing. Larger than a tongue, yes, but firm and warm in the same way. Draco focused on Potter's noises and squirms, trying to get as much reaction as possible. 

"Try now." 

Draco couldn't ask Potter to clarify with a mouth full of cock. 

"Try adding your fingers now." 

Draco looked up and let Potter slip out of his mouth. "Really?"

Potter’s face was flush and his eyes were hazy as if he were half in a trance or dream. "Yeah. I think I'll be relaxed if you're sucking on me." Potter handed him the tube of lube again, and Draco managed to keep the lube in his hand this time. He sucked Potter’s cock back into his mouth as he gently ran a slick finger over Potter’s hole. 

Once Potter was moaning and squirming again, Draco slid the first finger inside. It was easier this time and he was thrilled that Potter didn't go limp in his mouth. When one finger was moving with ease, he added a second and then a third. 

It was amazing to have Potter in his mouth, trustingly thrusting between Draco's teeth, as Draco's fingers moved in and out of his arse. Draco had never felt so physically joined to another person before. 

"I'm ready," Potter gasped and gently pushed Draco's head from his lap. 

Draco didn't dare to speak or breathe as they changed their positions. Potter returned to his hands and knees, and Draco knelt behind him. He ran one hand over Potter's back as he used the other to line himself up. 

Slowly, slowly, he pushed into Potter's heat. Potter was tense, but he didn't shout or freeze up completely. They were doing this. His cock was inside Potter's body. 

It didn't last very long. Draco barely remembered more than Potter's permission to move faster and then his own frenzied thrusting until they both collapsed into a sweaty, sticky pile of limbs. Draco was pretty sure his performance had not been particularly impressive, but it had been enough for Potter to climax and then curl into him with a sleepy smile on his lips. 

Draco had felt so relaxed and safe and happy as he lay tangled in Potter’s limbs. He may have fallen asleep. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Potter's arm still wrapped around his waist and Potter’s leg woven between his own. Potter's breath was deep and even, and a small smile rested on his lips. Draco kissed his cheek, and sleepy green eyes opened to look at him.

"Well I guess we worked up a good appetite for dinner," Draco quipped.

Potter went rigged and then grabbed his clock from the nightstand. 

"Fuck!" 

He pulled away from Draco, clambered out of bed and fled the room. More swears rose from below a moment later. Draco sat up in bed and listened to the banging of metal and running of water between Potter's colourful outbursts. Finally heavy footsteps came back up the stairs, and Potter stumbled into the bedroom and fell across the bed. 

"A bit overdone?" 

Potter laughed. "Not if you like leather beef and charcoal potatoes." He sighed dramatically before moving closer to Draco and nuzzling into his side. "I have some leftover spaghetti sauce I could reheat. I think I can manage to make pasta if you put some clothing on and stay at arm’s length."

Draco pulled Potter into a fierce kiss that would prevent either of them from speaking. He had been struggling to accept that Potter was even open to his advances before Potter threw in the mention of his months-old interest. The idea that Potter found him too distracting to cook around was too much. 

He had made a plan to save Potter from his virginity, but that whole plan had fallen away in the face of something else. Best to just jump in like a Gryffindor and see where things led.

He pulled away with a playful nip at Potter’s lip. He arched his brow and gave Potter a haughty smirk. “I _could_ get dressed. Or we could test your concentration.”

Potter laughed. “Get ready for more sex and some mushy pasta.”

* * *

It was months later when Granger and Draco found themselves alone together at a Ministry ball. They weren't quite friends, but she and Weasley had been surprisingly accepting of his and Harry's relationship. 

"I guess I should thank you, Malfoy." 

Draco was grateful he wasn't drinking his champagne or he might have choked. What did _Granger_ have to thank _him_ for? 

"For Harry. You really saved him."

 _Saved_ him? From what? Oh my god, the plan! How did Granger know about that? And why would she thank Draco for freeing Harry from his virginity? 

"After the war, especially with Ron and me together, and then Ginny and Edwin, and Neville and Pansy … he was just so alone. We were worried about him."

Oh, not the virginity, then. Loneliness. Draco hadn't thought about it, but Harry did comment about loving having Draco there to cook for or read with. It was part of how he'd convinced Draco to move in so quickly. 

So Draco had saved Harry after all. And maybe, although Draco would never admit it to Granger, Harry had saved him, too.

***~fin~***

**Author's Note:**

> You may comment here or on [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/271032.html). Comments are ♥.


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